Bobby B Saves The Day
by Daemon Belaerys
Summary: This is what happen when Bobby B Saves the Fucking Day Warnings: Crack! Rude Language, Mentions of sex. Oneshot!


**Warnings for this chapter: Crack, swearing, Bobby B being awesome, 'time-travel', Robert Fucking Baratheon.**

 **Bobby B set things right.**

Robert woke up with a gasp and wildly threw his eyes about the room, staring in wonder at the familiar quarters, and also feeling the 'Warhammer' rise, hard and ready for another 'battle' with the two whores in his bed.

«They fucking did it,» he whispered to himself. «The fucking cunts did it.»

Dying, had not been pleasant, quite the contrary, it was fucking painful, especially with the added humiliation of dying from a fucking boar gutting him. Still, he'd take dying all over again a thousand times more rather than remember what followed.

Rather than to be reunited at last with his beloved Lya, he was met with a Lya who was fucking _pissed_ , not only was she pissed, so was his mother, father, grandfather and a whole lot more relatives and dead friends. His Targaryen grandmother that he had always done his best to not remember, refused to so much as even look at him.

But the worst, the actual worse thing was not even finding out that Lya had ran off to marry Rhaegar, or the fact the he had fucked her crosseyed on numerous occasions. No the worst thing was that Rhaegar wasn't even angry at him. Angry he could have handled, could have worked up a rage at so that he could shout back at the silverheaded cunt, but _noooo_ Rhaegar Fucking Targaryen was just disappointed that his 'cousin Robert' had done so many mistakes.

Of course, things went from bad to worse, as he was forced to watch one bad fucking thing after another happen. Ned got hit head lopped off. Joffrey the blonde cunt wasn't even his son, neither was Tommen or Myrcella his children.

Now Robert would be the first to admit that he had never loved Cersei, rather he loathed her almost as much as Rhaegar, but that she'd sink so low as to fuck her own brother behind his back and present the bastards as his own children...well, even Robert wasn't that big of a cunt, then again, he could kinda understand why she did it, after all Jaime Fucking Lannister was the only other person in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms who was as vain as Cersei, so perhaps he should have seen it sooner, something the the majority of his fellow dead relatives were eager to point out to him on several occasions.

So he continued to watch as history unfolded, and promptly went to shit without him there to feast and whore the Kingdoms away. Watching Jaime Lannister lose his hand was satisfying, watching Tywin get murdered by his own son was even better. The Red Wedding on the other hand was fucking horrible, and he made himself a promise to try to kill Walder again when he eventually showed up.

Thankfully the Starks got their vengeance eventually, which he was very glad for, even if they only got it thanks to a Targaryen, and wasn't Robert surprised the first time Lya informed him that Jon Snow was actually her son, Ned confirming it when he showed up was even worse. Perhaps he should have felt more guilt when Ned eventually showed up, but watching his honourable 'dim' firend who had actually fooled the whole realm with his 'bastard' glare angrily at him while holding his detached head in his big hands was too fucking funny, especially since even good old Rickard Stark, who himself looked like a half chewed burnt steak immediately started to try and box Ned's ears in for his 'damned honour and lack of common fucking sense', a fact made very hard since Ned's head was, as mention not detached to anything, which meant that Rickard's first punch resulted in a big 'headhunt' to try and locate Ned's suddenly missing head.

Ned promptly beating the living fuck out of Robert after his head was found and placed gingerly in Brandon's hand was not so fun, he'd forgotten how dirty a fighter Ned could be after he became King.

Of course, after Winterfell was retaken by the Starks, one would think that things would turn out for the better but of course that would just be too fucking perfect. Rickon's death led to another round of beating at the Hands of several generations of Starks, which left Robert feeling like a whore who had gone through a weeklong orgy in a dothraki khalasar, apparently, the dead couldn't die again, but you'd be amazed at what you could 'live' through after dying.

Anyhow, things didn't work out. Fucking wite walkers, fucking Cersei, and fucking Baelish saw to that. Every cunt with an army were doing their fucking best to grab as much power as they could, with the exception of Lya's boy who tried to get the other cunts to realize the big threat that was coming from the North. He, and his kin, both Baratheons and Targaryens as well as the Starks had a brief moment of hop when it looked like Daenerys and Lya's boy were starting to get along and discussing an alliance, watching Lya look in horror at her son fucking his, at the time unkown aunt was particularly delightful, but then, of course things went to shit.

Baelish poisoned Daenerys with a slow acting poison, the killed her a few days after he himself got his throat sliced by Arya Stark, (Robert would remember the time that Baelish got bashed into a pulp for days on end by dead Starks, Baratheons, Targaryens and who knows who else) with exquisite pleasure for the rest of his days. Daenerys' death was a problem though, as the unsullied and several Lords sworn to her all believed Lya's boy did it, and the resulting war left the majority of both forces, as well as the majority of the North dead.

Cersei herself went off the deep end and ended up completing the Mad King's work by blowing the entirety of King's landing into so many pieces of burnt out rubble. It was shortly after that the Wall fell, thanks to the aforementioned war in the North that killed off the few remaining brothers of the Night's Watch. Apparently their vows were a magical oath that, along with their eventual death in its defence apparently kept it standing, but thanks to the dearth of recruits for the last millennia, as well as several betrayals by various brothers apparently weakend the magic keeping it up until it suddenly collapsed, causing the dead, and the frozen cunts controlling them pour into the North.

Lya's boy, one of the few remaining Lords remaining in the North led a hopeless rearguard to allow the few remaining inhabitants in the North to flee south. Only the fact that the boy could ride his dead aunt's dragons made sure it wasn't a complete rout, but even with three dragons he was chanceless. One dragon (Robert forgot its name) was killed by the Night's King, reanimated to be his own mount, and was thankfully killed shortly thereafter by Lya's boy and the two remaining dragons. The deadly duel also cost the life of one more dragon and Lya's boy lost both an arm and an eye.

Eventually The Northmen got south and tried to reinforce whatever castles there were, while Lya's boy went to Oldtown to try and request aid. Big. Fucking. Mistake.

As soon as they grey rats calling themselves Maesters saw the dragon they had Lya's boy killed in his sleep while the dragon itself was poisoned through its meal, and thanks to the fucking Maesters and their hatred of all things magic or Targaryen, the army of the dead rolloed through Westeros in an ever worsening winter. It took them less than a year to wipe out all life in Westeros. A few more months and they were invading Essos after freezing the oceans, and were merrily killing and reanimating anything they came across.

It was at this point that Robert woke up in his own bed with two whores. After pinching himself to verify that 'yes, he was awake' he felt a sinister grin sneak across his face, oh the fun he could have now that he could apparently live his life over again.

Dressing himself he whistled merrily as he strutted towards the ravenry, probably making Ser Barristan wonder at his mental health while doing so.

«Yo-your Grace» Pycelle said as he bowed as low as his fake arthritis allowed.

«Pycelle,» Robert boomed. «Just the man I was looking for, I need to have a raven sent to my brother Stannis right away.»

Now that Robert knew what to watch for he felt that famous Baratheon fury simmer angrily as Pycelle's eyes widened in worry for a brief moment before disappearing.

«Of course Your Grace,» Pycelle simpered as he gathered a Raven from its cage, while waiting for Robert to write the message.

Rather than write anything sensitive, Robert penned a short note asking stannis to take in young Robert 'Arryn' as a squire, while mentally scoffing at how he and everyone failed to see that Robert Arryn had been fathered by Baelish. It was comon sense after all, Lysa and both her parents were red of hair and blue of eyes, while Jon Arryn was blonde and blue eyed, his parents also blonde of hair in his fathers case, and red of hair in the case of his mother, as such it should be impossible then for young 'Sweetrobin' to have brown hair and brown eyes.

After sending the Raven away, Robert and Barristan left the Grand Maester to his own devices, their walk to his solar spent in silence. As soon as he was certain they were alone Robert turned to Barristan. «I have a few tasks for you Barristan.»

«I am yours to command Your Grace,» Barristan said obediantly.

«Good,» Robert said with a nod. «First, I want you to watch the ravenry, shoot down any Raven that leaves it for the next day and bring the messages to me, you may conscript a few men **if** you can trust them to help,» Barristan's eyes widened slightly at his task, but Robert ignored it. «Second, once this task is done, I need you to bring a letter to Stannis in person.»

«Your Grace?» Barristan questioned.

«I have been betrayed,» Robert growled. «By who and how many remains to be seen, but for the nonce the only one on my Kingsguard I trust is you, and I cannot trust anyone in the Gold Cloaks, which is why I am asking Stannis to get his arse her as fast as can be with as many men as he can, I will also have Renly gather as many men from the Stormlords as possible, I intend for King's Landing to be garrisoned as if every army in Westeros is converging on it.»

«Did you have more tasks for me Your Grace?» Barristan asked.

Robert grimaced. He didn't want to, but he'd made a promise to Lya, and his father, and mother, and Ned and every other fucking relative of his to 'get the fuck over yourself', and now that he had the actual opportunity to do so he was going to bloody well do it. He was Robert of the Fucking House Baratheon, First of his Fucking Name, and the Gods Damned Fucking King, and he was going to save the fucking world, regardless if it wanted to be saved or not.

«After you've talked to Stannins you are to take a ship to Pentos. There you'll find Daenerys and Viserys Targaryen as guests of Magister Illyrio Mopatis.»

Barristan almost jumped in shock, «Your Grace» he tried to object.

«Gods Barristan, I'm not asking you to kill her,» Robert barked. «But her brother along with Mopatis are intenting to wed her off to a dothraki horselord.» Robert sat down in his chair and sighed. «I've done a lot of bad deeds Barristan, but I am not so far gone that I'll have a three and ten year old girl be wed off to a savage brute only so that she can buy her brother an army. No, you'll find her and bring her back to Westeros, and I give you my word that I'll see her treated well.»

Barristan took an uncomfortably long time to reply, his sharp eyes scanning him for any sign of deceit before nodding gratefully. «I'll see it done Your Grace...but if I may ask, why me?»

Robert actually laughed. «If you could sneak into Duskendable while it was on war footing, and sneak out again, with Aerys in tow, You'll have no trouble getting into a huge manse in a city like Pentos.»

Barristan gave a sly grin. «I see your point Your Grace. By your leave then?»

Robert waved him off with a slight wave, already thinking on the next thing he needed to get done.

Getting Jon Arryn to visit him was not difficult, getting Jon to not rush off to have Baelish and Lysa beheaded after telling Jon of his suspicions, about both Lysa's boy, and Cersei's children was harder. After he calmed down, Jon agreed fully with Robert's decision of calling the banners to King's landing, and having a few extra guards never hurt, even if the Kingsguard was supposed to be enough to protect the King, one hour in the ring with a few of Jon's select household guard was enough to prove that the majority of the Kingsguard (Cersei's creatures all of them) were not fit to protect a privvy, let alone the King, so Robert, the 'gracious King' that he was left the Kingsguard with the task to protect Cersei and her bastards while surrounding himself with Jon's vale knights, and a few hastily borrowed stormlanders from Renly's guard.

It took less than a day after Robert woke up before Barristan returned with a dead raven and message scroll in hand, and a quick perusal of the message left no doubt (as if there ever was) that Pycelle was Tywin's creature, the message detailing everything from what he'd had for breakfast, how many whores he'd had the past week, how he had ditched his Kingsguard and of course that he planned to have Lysa's son squire for Stannis.

Rather than having Pycelle arrested at once he kept the small scroll on his person until he was in a position to strike. The first steps of 'Robert Fucking Baratheon's plan to save the Fucking World, was already away. The second step was inviting Tywin to King's Landing, easy enough to do by casually mentioning ti Pycelle that Jon Arryn was getting on in age and that he would need a man like Tywin to help him run the Kingdoms until he could make a final decision about who to have as hand.

As it was, Stannis' nameday was not far off, and throwing a tourney in his honour, and also as a 'farewell' to Jon Arryn's many years of steadfast service made sure that no one suspected too much when he had the city filled with men, both knights, and men at arms and squires to serve them. As soon as he had Stannis' men, and the Knights of the Vale that Jon sent for safely inside the city, he actually deigned to visit a meeting of the Small Council where he had Renly send away half the Gold Cloaks, as well as most of the Lannister swords into the Kingswood to clear out any bandits they could find.

Not that there were any to Robert's knowledge, but it made sure that the manpower Cersei, Tywin and Baelish could call on was far more limited than usual, and as soon as Tywin entered the city in all his golden pomp Robert gladly struck. In one glorious night, he got Cersei, Tywin, Baelish, Lysa, Gregor Clegane, Amory Lorch, Pycelle and countless others arrested.

Despite the fact that Monford Velaryon despised him Robert picked him to guard the black cells, as he knew that no matter how much Velaryon hated him, he hated Tywin and his men more.

It was late at night when Varys finally answered his summons, no doubt the spider had considered for a long time if he shouldn't have made a run for it or not, but evidently his curiosity had won through. «Your Grace,» he said in the ever so annoying effeminate voice.

«How long have you known?» Robert asked gruffly.

Varys tittered, «Known what Your Grace?»

Robert narrowed his eyes. «Don't fuck me about Varys. I know that you are the only reason Daenerys and Viserys are still alive,» he said, taking a vindictive pleasure at seeing the brief hint of worry in the eunuch's eyes. «I also know that you want what is best for the realm,» he said, giving a small nod at the spider who returned it with a small smile. «But I still want to know how long you've know the truth about Cersei and her bastards.»

«I've had my suspicions for a few years Your Grace, but never any tangible proof.»

«Hmm,» Robert grunted. «I'll buy that I suppose. Anyway, I am pleased to announce that Daenerys Targaryen won't have to marry Khal Drogo after all,» he said, just barely managing to avoid cackling like Mad Old Aerys as Varys goggled in complete befuddlement.

«Ho-how?» he asked in wonder.

«I have my own sources as well you know,» Robert said smugly. «If everything has gone as planned, Barristan has already gotten her away from her brother's influence.» Taking a deep drink of water (he had sadly forsworn wine after seeing how it got him killed the last time) he tried his best to pierce Varys in place with his gaze.

«What I need to know Varys, is if I have to worry about you now, or will you actually help me save the Realm?»

Varys got a queer look on his face as he studied Robert, before apparently becoming somewhat satisfied with what he could see. «I am loyal to the King, and the Realm,» he said finally.

Robert who had been studying Varys just as closely eventually let out a small nod in acknowledgement. «Good, because we have work to do Varys, a **lot** of work to do, and the first thing that needs to be done is the romoval of that damn fire priestess of Stannis.»

No matter that the fire priestess had done _some_ good by bringing Lya's boy back to life, she _had_ burnt his niece to death, that and use her magic on Stannis to the point that his mind was so scrambled that it was a miracle he was even able to walk, let alone actually focus on strategy, watching Lya's boy keep his word and rove her head when she eventually returned North, thinking herself safe simply for being part of Daenerys' party had been heartwarming to say the least.

«Oh and Varys,» Robert halted Varys who was about to open the door out from his solar. «Keep it quiet, and make sure no one _ever_ finds the body _.»_

 _«_ Ihear that the countless eateries selling bowls of brown aren't picky about the meat that goes into them Your Grace, one more woamn disappearing won't trouble anyone.»

Shuddering slightly at being reminded of King's Landing local 'favourite' he gave Varys a nod of thanks before taking out a roll of parchment to cross out yet another thing that needed to be done.

A few more days was all it took before Varys subtly informed him that the 'Lady' Melisandre had disappeared into the bowels of the Red Keep and not been seen since. A worried Stannis, and hysterical Selyse showing up the day after confirmed it to Robert that Melisandre was well and truly dead, and no doubt already consumed by various inhabitants of King's Landing.

Calming down Stannis was easy enough, playing on his sceptisism of religion, Selyse was another matter and eventually Robert grew tired enough that he had her forcibly dozed down with Milk of the Poppy until he could decide what to do with her.

Getting Stannis to calm the fuck down and have some patience with regards to Tywin and all his ilk was another matter entirely. Stannis wanted them dead as soon as possible, and did not know what to do with a Robert that preached patience, and it took Robert threatening to send Stannis to the Wall to calm him down.

The truth was that Robert was waiting for Ned to show up, already having written to his oldes friend to come to King's Landing with a thousand armed men, His son Robb and 'bastard' Jon. If Ned suspected anything he didn't mention it in his reply, and Robert was looking forward to shocking the hell out of Ned (and the rest of the Realm for that matter).

He had also finally decided to do right by his various bastards, having been hounded about his tratment/ignorance of them more times than he cared to count by his various dead relatives, his grandmother in particular had delivered devastating blows with her inordinately sharp tongue after she finally deigned herself to speak to him, to be honest he preferred it when she only acknowledged his presence to turn her nose up at him and glare at him as if he was an insignificant smelly bug to be trod on, as her tongue was far more effective at making him feel like the lowest form of scum than her mere looks of hostility.

Still, at least his bastards, all four and ten of them were going to be looked after, thought meeting them had been the height of awkwardness, especially when some of them started to speak of presents they had recieved from their father, presents that he knew damn well he had never give, and he felt a well of warmth for Jon Arryn for doing his best to take care of them.

The only one that he could remember was his daughter Mya who had grown up to become a beautiful, stubborn woman, and with a mouth that was at times filthier than his own even.

It was at this time that everyone else seemed to arrive, within a day of eachother, and he had to ruthlessly supress the urge to rub his hands together gleefully while whispering 'just as planned'.

After checking one last time that all of the Lords had assembled in the Throne Room he strode in confidently, head held high and sat down in on the Iron Throne, casting his imperious gaze upon the assembled nobles.

Jon Arryn, as hand of the King stood beside him, just as curious as everyone else. Standing beside Ned stood his son Robb, his 'bastard' Jon and of course Theon Greyjoy, Ned's 'ward', along with Lords, Umber, Karstark, Bolton, Glover, Hornwood and Lady Mormont. A little further behind were some of the Riverlords; Hoster, his son Edmure and brother Brynden, Lords Mallister, Darry, Piper and Goodbrook.

Representing the Reach were Tarly, Rowan, Florent, Redwyne and naturally Mace Tyrell, while Tyrion Lannister, along with Lords, Lefford and Crakehall were the only one from the Westerlands who were not currently in chains.

Every house from the Vale and Stormlands were represented, as were the Lords of the Narrow sea, and standing beside Lord Velaryon, almost shivering in fear stood Daenerys Targaryen, with Barristan Selmy and Monford Velaryon at her side, both of them trying to keep her reassured. Monford had almost had his eyes pop out of his head when Robert told him that Barristan was bringing Daenerys to the city and that Robert would be placing her under Monford's protection. No doubt the man was wondering if Robert had finally gone off the deep end, while Robert himself was sniggering silently, if only he ahd know how much fun there was to be had by fucking everyone around and confusing them he would have started decades ago.

Trying, and probably failing to reassure Daenerys with a (hopefully) kind smile he looked back at 'Jon Snow' with suspicion, and sure enough, standing behind him was Beric Dondarrion of all people, 'Jon' himself for that matter looked far 'older' than he had any right to be for a boy of four and ten, not in physical terms, but there was something in those dark lilac eyes, normally concealed by his lustrous black locks that had been sheared and shaved away fully for some reason. Anyhow, looking at the boy, Robert suddenly had a feeling that he might not be the only one to have come back. Both 'Jon' and Beric had both died and been resurrected before, and considering that he'd heard whispers (from Varys) that Beric Dondarrion was drilling men and buying dragonglass, and also that Roose Bolton's bastard (and the bastard's friends) had been found dead before a wierwood tree (their heads impaled on the tree branches) he suspected that both 'Jon' and Dondarrion remembered more, if not all of their lives.

Tearing his eyes away from Lya's boy he laid eyes on the dornish. Normally the only reply he would get from any of the dornish (if they even deigned to reply) was a, usually somewhat impertinent refusal. But Robert 'Bobby Fucking B' himself writes them and tells them to get their arses to King's Landing to witness the execution of Gregor Clegane, you can bet the dornish moved like their arses were on fire.

"Good, now that you are all here," he said, studiously ignoring the continued muffled whimpers of Cersei, Joffrey, Jaime, Tywin, Pycelle, Clegane and Lorch, Robert straightened out a roll of parchment. "We have several cases to go over, the first of which is the treason of my wife Cersei."

Clearing his throat Robert straightened out the parchment. "After careful and thorough investigation it has been revealed that Tommen, Myrcella and Joffrey are all bastards born of incest between Cersei and her brother the Kingslayer, SILENCE!" he shouted as shouts and whispers broke out from near every mouth in the room, and Robert's suspicions about 'Jon Snow' strengthened as the lad didn't even so much as twitch in surprise.

"Jaime Lannister, do you have anything to say regarding these charges?" Robert quite deliberately asked Jaime first, having already spoken with the man in private the night before to offer him a deal. Jaime would confess, and in return his brother would be allowed to keep Casterly Rock and Lordship and various titles to the Westerlands, and both Tommen and Myrcella would be entrusted to Tyrion's care.

Jaime steeled himself as one of the guards removed his gag. "I cannot refute the charges Your Grace, they are the truth, Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella are all my children."

By all the fucking Gods it was pleasing to see Tywin Lannister's dreams of a perfect legacy and dynasty from his so called perfect children shatter like glass. "SILENCE!" He screamed once again, eventually causing the hall to fall silent once again.

"In light of the fact that admit the truth, and also for saving this city from the Mad King's wildfire plot, I will spare your life and allow you to take the black, your eldest bastard Joffrey Waters will follow you," gesturing a few guards over he looked the Kingslayer in the eyes, taking a perverse pleasure at the defeat he could see there. "Take the Kingslayer and his bastard away."

Hushed whispers, almost like the humming of bees followed as the Kingslayer was gagged again and he and a protesting Joffrey were dragged away, Joffrey kicking and screaming as best he could through his binds and gag, Cersei tried for a brief moment to intrude, but was quickly disabused of any notion of heroics after receiving a fist to her jaw.

Robert gave the Lords and their men a few minutes to calm down before continuing. "In the light of her treason, Cersei of the House Lannister is hereby sentenced to death, the sentence will be carried out after today's affairs are brought to an end." Another gesture had Cersei was brought to the newly constructed stockades that Robert had installed at the back of the room.

Rather than to continue on to Tywin and his lickspittles Robert had the Kingsguard brought forth instead. "Sers Preston Greenfield, Mandon Moore, Boros Blount and Meryn Thrant, you have all proven to be my cunt of a wife's creatures. You've betrayed your King, shamed your white cloak and Knighthoods, I hereby strip you of both and sentence you to serve out your remaining days on the Wall," Turning to Arys Oakheart, the only other knight of the Kingsguard worthy of his cloak and trust according to Barristan. "Ser Arys, relieve them of their cloaks."

Banging his fist on his chesplate Ser Arys ripped away the cloaks of the former Kingsguard Knights and then brought them up to Robert while the four disgraced men were dragged away screaming. Accepting the cloaks Robert took a gulp of water from his new squire, his bastard son Gendry. His former Squire Lancel was currently under house arrest, looking after Tommen and Myrcella so they didn't have to be here to see their father be revealed to not be their father, and their mother sentenced to death.

"Sers Loras Tyrell, Brynden Tully, Robar Royce and Rolland Storm," he said causing the men in question to step forth. "After careful discussion with Lord Commander Selmy, I am offering you each a place in my Kingsguard."

The Blackfish was the first to step up and grab a cloak, no surprises there, as it would give him the excuse to never again worry about marrying to please Hoster, and Hoster couldn't even complain, it was a great honour after all to have one's brother become a member of the Kingsguard.

Rolland Storm was also quite happy to accept the cloak. A bastard he was never going to inherit, and the life of a Kingsguard was in theory at least quite easier than travelling from tourney to tourney, risking life and limb to keep himself fed, and while a Knight would probably make more money serving as a houseld Knight for one Lord or other, the competition for the best positions was quite hard.

Robar Royce accepted a hug and following pat on the back from his father Yohn before taking up his cloak, while Ser Loras was almost thrown towards the throne by his father Mace who was pushing out his chest in pride like a particularly vain peacock, while his mother Olenna the Queen-of-Thorns was doing her very best to avoid either facepalming or boxing his ears in, _'probably both,'_ Robert thought with a snigger.

"The final position will be filled at a later date," Robert explained to the crowd, many of them no doubt wondering who would fill the remaining place.

"Next up are the traitors Petyr Baelish and Lysa Arryn," He spoke loudly, once again getting that warm smug feeling at causing absolute chaos. "Petyr Baelish has been caught red handed of not only embezzling **millions** from the crown, but evidence has been uncovered that he like his father, grandfather and great-grandfather before him are all employed by the Iron Bank of Braavos, all of them have worked tirelessly with the express goal of destabilizing the Realm and bring it under the Iron Bank's control. Using his vile intellect he seduced Lysa Arryn into his scheme going so far as to cuckold the Hand Jon Arryn and get her with child that she pretended was her husband's, for this Petyr Baelish is sentenced to death, while the fate of Lady Lysa and her bastard Robert stone will be left up to the Hand of the King Jon Arryn."

The outrage was simple to see on every face in the room. A large amount of the assembled Lords were old enough to have either fought against Maelys the Monstrous and his 'Band of the Nine' or at least remember their father or brothers fighting in that war. It was known, though never spoken outright that Maelys and his supporters were bank rolled by members of the Iron Bank, and this latest scheme would be seen as nothing but yet another attempt by foreigners to take their lands.

Now Robert may not be the sharpest tool in the shed, nor have the very best memory, but if there was one thing he could always remember with crystal clarity it was insults and grudges, and after learning quite a lot of various stuff after his death he had been more than glad to watch every keyholder in the Iron Bank get turned into undead slaves, and sadly for them, Robert remembered each and every name and fully intended to take his vengeance.

' _War is a certainty,'_ he thought as he looked out the outrage or fury on the various faces in the room, seven hells, even the dornish were pissed enough that if he was to call the banners they'd show up in the thousands.

"Hrmph," he cleared his throat again. "Now for the next, we have Tywin Lannister, and Grand Maester Pycelle," he spoke clearly, causing a gasp of surprise to echo in the room as several Lords were 'surprised' even though both men were chained up. "Letters have been intercepted that gives clear evidence that both of them have been spying on me, furthermore, letters from Tywin and the Citadel both have been found after thorough ransacking of Pycelle's quarters that are of a most disturbing nature," He paused for effect as everyone in the large Throne Room leant ever so slightly closer.

"On orders from both Tywin and the Citadel, Pycelle, for decades poisoned both King Aerys II, his wife Queen Rhaella and their children," it actually hurt to speak Aerys' name with anything else but disgust, but after learning all that had happened to both him and Rhaella over the years he was not surprised at all that the man went mad. "The result of these crimes led to, among other things, the several miscarriages and stillbirths of Queen Rhaella, the murder of her children while still in their cribs, and lastly caused the insanity of King Aerys, eventually leading to the Rebellion and the death of the millions of men, women and children who died, all in the hope of Tywin having his daughter Cersei become Queen, it would not surprise me if Elia's bouts of sickness was also a result of Pycelle's poisons though evidence has yet to be found."

"It's a lie," Lord Lefford shouted, "No one would be so foolish as to leave such evidence just lying around."

"Oh you are quite right My Lord," Robert growled. "It was only by chance that we found it at all, hidden behind a loose brick in the Maester's tower." Robert had been as surprised as any to discover the treasure trove of treasonous correspondence, but then again, he knew Pycelle well enough to know that he was a sly old man. And Pycelle had no doubt kept the letters to make sure that if he was ever outed or betrayed he'd bring down as many as possible with him.

Looking down at Tywin, Robert grinned nastily at _finally_ seeing fear in the man's eyes, fear that would soon enough turn to panic. "Prince Doran," Robert called, while never removing his eyes from Tywin. "I will give Tywin over for you and your brother to deal with, my only request is that you make his death as long and painful as you can."

' _Yup, there's the panic,'_ Robert thought gleefully as Tywin struggled like a drowning man while Oberyn Martell practically danced over to him with glee. Surprising Robert somewhat the haughty dornish Prince actually gave him a smile before dragging Tywin away back to the dornish contingent, no doubt refusing to let the man out of sight or reach until he was well and truly dead.

' _Time to surpise Ned,'_ Robert thought gleefully as he looked towards the northerners. "Lord Bolton, step forward," Robert said magnanimously, complete with a smile that was as sincere as he could make it. He waited until Roose Bolton was away from his fellow Lords before giving a chopping motion with his hand.

Four quarrels, fired from his best crossbowmen in the gallery took care of Bolton's guards, while two burly Knights sworn to Storm's End grabbed the shocked Lord and forced him to his knees.

"Roose Bolton," Robert boomed. "The First Night has been banned for near three hundred years, and yet, when a miller on your lands wed a woman, you had him hung from a tree. You then proceeded to violate his widow several times under her husband's still swinging corpse," he explained calmly while several people gasped in disgust, or in the case of the northerners glared balefully, and Robert could see the Ned's hands were already itching to grasp Ice and take Roose's head. "Furthermore, you have since covered up the many crimes of the bastard you sired that night, crimes which includes the poisoning and murder of both your former wife Bethany of House Ryswell and that of your trueborn son. For these crimes I strip House Bolton of its lands and titles and sentence you to die."

The many Lords and Ladies in the Throne Room would no doubt be inoculated by now of everything that was happening as they merely watched in interest as Roose Bolton was lead over to the stockades and chained up along with Cersei, Pycelle and Baelish.

' _I've got a few surprises left in me,'_ Robert sniggered to himself.

"Ned and ah, 'Jon Snow' step forward," Robert said gleefully, trying his best to avoid smirking as Ned started to sweat while 'Jon' simply seemed to accept what was coming."

"Well Ned, I think it is time for you to tell everyone the truth, including your _nephew_ , Robert said, causing more than one gasp of surprise, though Varys' gasp, and following facepalm was by far the sweetest.

Robert was almost tempted to tell Ned not to worry so much as his old friend stumbled and stuttered through a halting explanation of the events of the Tower of Joy, finding Lyanna Stark, promising to care for her son by claiming him to be his own bastard.

"You shouldn't have shaved your head boy," Robert said with a small chuckle. "The dark hair hid your eyes somewhat, while now...anyone who spent any amount of time around Targaryens can see their features in you."

More than a few were nodding in agreement, Monford Velaryon in particular looked damn pleased, while Daenerys was looking somewhat calmer, and dare he say even happy, and curious.

"What was that boy?" Robert barked as 'Jon' mumbled something.

"I said I didn't have much of a choice," he mumbled surly, and Robert felt a flash of anger and shame. Without the black hair he was disturbingly similar to Rhaegar and Rhaella. The looks may be mostly Rhaella, with some of Lya mixed in, but that brood and sullen tone was all Rhaegar.

"Eh?" Robert exclaimed before he could stop himself, cursing slightly at the realization that no matter how much shit had happened today, there would still be made a few more 'Robert the Clueless, or Robert the dim' made after this.

The boy eventually realized that he wouldn't escape answering and sighed, causing Velaryon to snort and mutter, 'I'll be damned if that isn't Rhaegar's boy.'

"Well?" Robert questioned impatiently.

"I woke up a few weeks ago with my hair suddenly a lot paler."

"Ah," Robert exlaimed. That would mean that he woke up around the same time that Robert himself suddenly returned to life, and probably Dondarrion as well. Though why his hair had suddenly changed colour to the more traditional Targaryen colour was beyond him, but then again, there was enough magic in his blood, and magic that he had been involved in that he wouldn't be surprised if that had something to do with it, either that or the Gods were simply cunts, stranger things had certainly happened, such as Robert Fucking Baratheon coming back to life before he even died in the first place, still let it never be said that Robert Fucking Baratheon ever let a chance to make an inappropriate jape pass him by. "Would that include the hair on your cock as well boy?" he yelled, breaking out in loud cackles as the boy reddened and fumed, though refused to answer.

"Anyway I'm getting away from myself, Ned, tell the boy his fucking name."

Ned sighed before eventually turning to his nephew. "Aemon, his name is Aemon," he said finally.

"Good, just like the damn Dragonknight" Robert clapped his hands together like an eager child. "Well, I can safely say that after four and ten years of marriage to the most vicious cunt in the Seven Kingdoms I have no intention of going through _that_ shit again, also, I have no fucking intention of making Stannis King after me," he said while giving a glare at his brother. Mindfucked by magic or not, the man _had_ burnt his only daughter alive. "Furthermore, I don't want to give anyone any ideas of using these two either," he said as he haphazardly gestured at Daenerys or Aemon/Jon. "So we'll do it really easy." he turned to Rhaegar and Lya's boy and almost laughed. Rhaegar might have gotten Lya, but Robert would have the last laugh, and he'd make sure the boy loved him better than he'd ever love Rhaegar. "Congratulations lad, You'll be wedding my eldest girl Mya Of House Baratheon," he said, almost hooting as Stannis ground his teeth in anger by effectively legitimizing Mya on the spot, Stannis had after all, never cared much for any of Robert's bastards.

He waited a few moments so the pandemonium could die down somewhat. Many people looked pleased while others were not so pleased, Mace Tyrell in particular looked crushed. "Now," Robert said as he raised a hand for silence. "I can't very well, let anyone use your aunt against you or my daughter boy, so I guess you'll wed her too," he said with a grin as Aemon/Jon's eyes widened somewhat in what seemed to be the early onset of hysteria. "Can't very well have you stray from your marriage bed like I've done, and with two wives that shouldn't be a problem eh boy?" he laughed and sent a rather obvious wink.

Robert watched with a great deal of schadenfreude as the boy tried to come up with a reply that could be considered 'safe'. "Well boy, spit it out."

"Your Grace, you do me great honour but..."

"Excellent," Robert cut him off. "Well there we have it, Aemon Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark will wed my eldest daughter Princess Mya Baratheon and his Aunt Daenerys, and one day succeed me as King of the Andals the Rhoynar and the First Men, Protector of the Realm and all that shit."

. . .

Absolute silence reigned for a few moments before the thunder of cheers threatened to lift the roof, and also conveniently drowned out what few (if any) boos there were, and the people shouting 'ROBERT! ROBERT! ROBERT!' along with the few scattered 'TARGARYEN!' or 'AEMON!' were god damn fucking pleasing, especially as Ned was standing there like a monkey who discovered writing for the first time, or even Jon Arryn who was still struggling to understand what the hell had just happened. Barristan giving him an approving Nod was by far the best damn feeling, he may never had the admiration for House Targaryen that Barristan had, but a nod of approval from the greatest Knight since Aemon the Dragonknight himself was better than a million salty whores.

"Alright calm down, CALM DOWN YOU SHITS!" he yelled as his first attempt at silence was ineffective. "We still have a few things to go through here, I intend to leave this Realm in a better shape than I found it SO, here are a few decrees and I'll thank those of you who are affected to shut your fucking mouths, I'M LOOKING AT YOU STANNIS."

"First on my list. With the Dreadfort now up for grabs I hereby grant it to my eldest brother Stannis. Seeing as his wife has pulled an Aerys," he snickered slightly at his new joke, "I hereby grant him permission to wed anew, so speak to Ned when you find the time to get yourself a northern bride that can give you a few sons."

Robert almost wilted slightly in disappointment when Stannis gave in without a struggle. "Second, and I'm sorry about this Ned, I'll make it up for you somehow, I hereby decree that Margaery Tyrell will wed your son Robb, I'll convince my soon to be goodson to foster his grandchildren in the North for a few years or something."

' _That takes care of the Tyrells,'_ he thought to himself. While the Tyrells, and indeed majority of the Reach was loyal to House Targaryen, he'd rather not trust Olenna Tyrell or her grand daughter further than he could trow then, having seen quite clearly how far Olenna was willing to go to have her grand daughter be Queen, but now, she was crippled. Having Margaery wed the Heir to Winterfell, the largest of all the Kingdoms was a great honour, having Loras on the Kingsguard was further proof that the King 'appreciated' the Tyrells. The northerners weren't exactly pleased at, yet again, having a southerner marry the Heir to the North, but couldn't exactly complai seeing as theyr future King had been raised in the North, having future generations foster a few years in the North also helped soothe their wounded pride.

"Now, Renly," Robert said, turning to his last brother. "I'll be needing you in the capitol far too much for you to adequately take care of Storms End, so I'm afraid you'll have to give it up."

Renly looked mutinous for a few moments until Robert continued. "Naturally as my brother you'll be adequately cared and protected, perhaps a Kingsguard of your choice can stay with you, ease him into his duties for the foreseeable future."

' _Translation, I'll let Loras fuck you often enough to keep any ideas of rebellion far from your mind,'_ Robert thought savagely.

"Next order of business, with Storm's End free, I hereby grant it to my son Gendry and also legitimize him as a proper Baratheon and name him Lord of Storm's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands." Looking at his bastard who was swaying slightly on his feet and looking faint Robert almost laughed again. ' _That'll teach you for calling me a fucking shit,'_ he thought gleefully, remembering when he had revealed to Gendry that he was his father. . .Gendry had not been pleased.

"Prince Doran," Robert called out next, fixing his eyes on the ruler of Dorne who was seated in his strange chair. "You have a daughter, and my son have needs of a wife, preferable someone who can help teach him how to rule, and hopefully start to rebuild the bonds of friendship between our Houses after the regrettable end of the Rebellion." Taking a glance at Arianne Martell Robert merely thought the rest of the words he wanted to say. ' _Your daughter is fucking hot, and if I was twenty years younger I'd have railed that cunt like a battering ram,'_ He didn't give a fuck about having a wife for Gendry that could teach him how to rule, that is what advisors were for. But he'd be damned if his firstborn son didn't get himself a nice cunt to plow every night, and if the rumours of the dornish had even a kernel of truth to them he knew his son would probably have more than just his wife in bed at the same time too.

"I accept." Doran said after a brief moment of thought, and Robert viciously suppressed the urge to do a well deserved happy dance when Arianne Martell took a closer look at Gendry and liked her lips in a manner that again made Robert wish he was twenty years younger and thirty stone slimmer. The 'fuck me' eyes she shared with her delectable blonde cousin brought warmth into Robert's old heart at the thought of what Gendry's wedding night would be like.

Tearing his eyes away from Gendry's future bride before he did something he'd no doubt regret. . .slightly, he locked gazes with Tyrion Lannister. "Lord Tyrion I hereby name you as Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West and all that shit. Tommen and Myrcella will be your to deal with as you see fit, as long as you ensure that they get no ideas above their station, is that in anyway unclear Imp?"

Tyrion, after getting past his wonder and bafflement knelt and bowed his head. "Clear as bells Your Grace."

Robert nodded graciously. "Good, I would request that you stay here in the Capital for now, I might yet find a use for you."

"Is everything ready?" Robert asked as he turned to Varys.

"Indeed Your Grace."

"Then proceed."

At a signal from Varys the great doors to the Throne Room opened and dozens of serfs came bustling in and started to make up a pyre around one of the pillars close to the Throne. The moment they were finished, Baelish Cersei, Pycelle, Amory Lorch and Gregor Clegane, who had to be carried to to his broken arms and legs (a safety precaution) were all chained up to the pillar, all of the struggling and panicking as they realized what was about to happen.

Some, like the Hound, or Oberyn Martell had broad grins on their faces, while others such as Ned looked pained. Rising from the Throne Robert himself placed two seemingly round stones on the unlit pyre, one in nuances of light and dark red, while the other was mottled green with streams of gold, the last two dragon eggs in Westeros, hidden deep in the dungeons along with everything else that had been displayed during the Targaryen reign.

Grandmaster Hallyne of the Pyromancers guild carefully doused the prisoners and pyre with wildfire and stepped back.

"Peter Baelish, Maester Pycelle, Cersei Lannister, Amory Lorch and Gregor Clegane, your crimes are many, and in some cases so monstrous that they will not even be named, so let it be known that I Rober Fucking Baratheon, King of all Westeros sentence you all to die, may the fire you'll burn to death in be but a taste of the seven hells that await you," he then shoved the torch into Jon/Aemon's hand. "You do it lad, it's your brother and sister some of these scum murdered."

Robert knew that Lya's boy was a good man, hells, he had watched him often enough from. . .whatever the afterlife was. He knew the boy took no pleasure in killing, but he also knew he wouldn't hesitate when neccesary, and he showed it yet again as he tossed the torch on the pyre, without so much as a twitch on his face.

Never in his life had Robert seen a fire burn so fast, or so bright. The screams lasted only for a few seconds before dying. The explosion of light and heat temporarily blinded everyone, the following roars almost made Robert shit himself. ' _I fucking did it,'_ he thought with awe. ' _Take THAT you dried up cunts,'_ he crowed victoriously as he watched the two dragons that had been hatched, something that dozens of Targaryens had tried (and failed at) for generations. Nevermind the fact that after he got over himself and actually asked a few of his Targaryen kin, (out of pure curiosity mind you) how to hatch dragons, he had **still** done it.

"BEHOLD," he shouted as he stretched his arms wide. "ROBERT BARATHEON, FATHER OF DRAGONS."

Silence reigned, you could have heard a pin drop, at least until his soon to be goodson viciously facepalmed. "Didn't think I had it in me did you boy?" he asked with a smug grin.

Jon/Aemon, let out one of his trademark sulk/sighs. "It was not the first thing on my mind no," he admitted. "Should they be that big though?" he asked curiously, and Robert could understand why.

The dragons were rather larger than he expected from newly hatched. Already the size of a very large dog the two flying reptiles had already shuffled over to the two Targaryens in the room, the red on warbling in joy as Jon/Aemon absent-mindedly scratched it under its chin, while the green and gold one was making identical noises of enjoyment as Daenerys stroked its fringe.

"Ehh. . ." Robert searched for words. "I _think_ you're only supposed to use on human sacrifice per hatching," he admitted with a whisper. "Still, this just means the dragons will be ready for the war to come that much sooner," Robert admitted, giving a nod when Jon/Aemon's eyes widened in realization.

"ALRIGHT!" Robert boomed suddenly, snapping people out of their daze. "That's all for today, we'll have the Royal Weddings in three moon's turns, until then I want everyone to return to their homes, and start preparations for war. Swords will be sharpened, arrows and spears gathered, dents beaten out of armor and all that shit, I want ships and I want men, it is time for Westeros for once to remind the cunts in Essos of their place." As the Lords of Westeros roared and clamoured for war, Robert felt more alive than he'd done in ages.

In addition to giving everyone the chance to build up and prepare, the added time also got Robert the chance to get himself in proper shape. He was fat, He was so out of shape it was tragic, He was past the prime of his life, and none of that mattered a gods damned thing. He was Robert Fucking Baratheon. The Demon of the Fucking Trident, and he ran himself, his Kingsguard and his soon to be goodson ragged. Fat almost poured off of him as he worked himself back into his old shape, sweat blood and tears, none of it mattered. He felt more alive than he had done since the Rebellion itself, the fact that he even managed to keep both Barristan and Lya's boy on their toes, both of them some of the best swordsmen Westeros had seen, a one in a generation talent was especially good for his ego.

The first wedding, the one between Gendry and Arianne Martell had gone of without a hitch, even though Robert had been reduced to a blubbering wreck when Arianne and her cousin Tyene had foregone the usual bedding ceremony and instead nearly ripped his oldest boy's clothes off in the great hall before together dragging him into his bedchambers.

Robb's wedding to Margaery Tyrell had gone pretty damn good too. As befitting of a proper northern wedding it was somewhat rowdier than most, leaving several men with bruises, black eyes, burst lips or broken bones, but Robb had damn well ingratiated himself with his new wife and her family when he put an abrupt end to the bedding by laying the Smalljon flat with one beauty of a punch that left the rather large man out like a light for the rest of the evening, and judging by how bowlegged bot he and Margaery were the next day Robert was damn certain that Margaery had demonstrated her appreciation several times. . .all night.

The last wedding, between Mya, Daenerys and Jon/Aemon had gone off without a hitch. The food was good, the smallfolk were ecstatic, his daughter Mya appeared to be happy with her choice, and his goodson proved to have teeth in addition to his bark, as the first person (some cunt from the Westerlands) who suggested a bedding in hopes of seeing either of his future Queen's naked was beaten insensate by Jon/Aemon who was admittedly rather greedy in not wanting to share his new wives with anyone else. He got to take the mickey out of his goodson as well as do his best to get Ned into trouble just like in the old days.

He got the delightful opportunity to shock the shit out of everyone yet again (as well as cause Stannis to actually break one of his teeth) by announcing that Tyrion Lannister was replacing

Jon Arryn as Hand of the King. Jon had decided to retire, not only because of his age, but also to try and beat some sense into his something or other nephew 'Harry the Heir' while he was still capable of boxing a man's ears in.

On other news, mining on Dragonstone was going on at full tilt, and HE being Robert Fucking Baratheon, had gleefully and with no small amount of smugness told the smiths of King's Landing, just how it should be done. Despite all the mystery and legends spun about them, Valyrian Steel was remarkably simple to produce, provided you had the right materials. Equal amounts of iron, dragonglass and silver, all of it laughably easy to acquire, when you had the coin. Melting it in the heat of dragonfire was a bit more problematic, fortunately Robert had a goodson and gooddaughter who just so happened to be in possession of dragons. Dragons that were growing at an alarming rate, and more than happy to throw fire at something at their masters command.

Robert almost regretted that Tywin had died before he could learn the fact that Tyrion bought himself a valyrian steel sword for his family for a measly thirty gold dragons. Speeking of the Lannisters, Robert had finagled Tyrion into forgiving the debts he owed them. A Lannister may always pay his debts, but the way Robert saw it, House Lannister owed him for four and ten years of marriage hell. When asked, Tyrian gladly conceded that he'd pay **six** million dragons to avoid Cersei for a lifetime, and if anything Robert should have tried to badger Tywin for more coin.

Still, without Baelish to embezzle, revenue was coming in at an amazing rate. Who knew that there was such a fortune to be had in selling Valyrian Steel across the sea (and in Westeros for that matter). Baelish's former holdings, which included a good number of whorehouses, warehouses and taverns soon enough provided another windfall in coin, especially once Baelish' little hidden stashes were discovered, and it took Robert, and Renly who was proving to be a remarkably efficient Master of Coin less than six moons to pay the debts owed to the Faith, House Tyrell and a few Tyroshi cartels.

The big dilemma was the Iron Bank. Regardless of the fact that he had evidence of their duplicity and subversive plots, they refused to renege the debt. The Sealord himself was powerless to do anything, tied down as he was by the bank, not even the threat of war would make the Sealord see reason, so Robert, He the Fucking Baratheon himself went a different route. Convincing Pentos, Myr, Lys, Tyrosh, Norvos and Qohor to join in an all out attack on Braavos was remarkably easy actually. The rulers of each of these city states had long been angry at how the braavosi treated them, and the lure of being the one to loot the Iron Bank was an incredibly strong incentive.

So while the majority of the Free Cities started to hire sellswords like it was going out of season, Robert decided to blood his army on the homefield. With the large amount of incriminating evidence found in Pycelle's tower, who knew what else the Maesters were keeping hidden, so Robert had gathered himself an army of fifty thousand and marched on Oldtown. Ratehr than risk his head, Lord Leighton had swiftly opened the gates for the King who himself laughed with his booming voice as he was the worst one to storm into the Citadel with his hammer raised high and eager for blood.

For all their dreams of power and guiding the world according their their specific design it was remarkably easy to take the citadel. Barely a handful put up any resistance what so ever, and after quite the short time actually of pouring through various vaults, books and notes Robert just shook his head. If he had known how deep the Maesters corruption ran he would have fought, tooth and nail to avoid being captured.

Thousands of years of secret information that should have never been seen by anyone else than the intended recipient was there. Hells, he found no less than eighteen notes written by his father to Lord Rickard Stark that he knew damn well Steffon Baratheon would have had people killed for reading. As it was, there was a _huge_ cleanup. The vast majority of the order of Maesters were soon enough on their way up to the Wall to continue to 'serve' the realm. The Archmasters were to a man impaled alive on the walls of the Citadel. A few Maesters were allowed to remain, under careful watch to teach the new order on how to run things. All the arts, such as ravenry, mathematics, healing and the like would still be taught. But never again would a Maester walk anywhere without an armed guard.

Returning home after the brief campaign he discovered that Pentos had apparently been razed to the ground, and the various sellsword armies of the Free Cities were depleted heavily after Khal Drogo's khalazar had rampaged through the area. Upon learning that his pretty young bride had done a runner, the Khal had been incensed and sworn vengeance, and had apparently returned after emptying the dothraki sea of men. He'd been successful in razing Pentos down to the last brick, but his campaign of rage and vengeance in the disputed lands had eventually shattered his army so badly that, even at the best of estimates it would take the dothraki centuries to recover.

This could prove to be a snag in Robert's Master Plan to Save the Fucking World, then again it could also be a blessing in disguise. Several of the Free Cities, jubilant now that they had proved victorious on the battlefield, (and thanks to exclusively using sellswords not lost a single of their citizens) were more eager than ever before to attack Braavos. It was an attack doomed to fail from the start. Half a dozen cities, all of them eager for gold or glory, and incapable, or unwilling to work together. Mix in that each army consisted of who knows how many different sellsword companies and it proved to be a disaster. True, they kept the siege going for months, depriving Braavos of men, food and ships, enough that when Robert Baratheon sailed at the head of a combined fleet of fifteen hundred ships and nearly two hundred and fifty thousand men, the armada of Westeros faced no challenge.

The remaining ships in Braavos' service were chance less, against the Armada that was governed by Stannis. Robert may despise Stannis, but truly, in the known world there was no greater sea commander alive, and less than a day into Braavos' attempt to engage the Armada in battle it was all over. Nearly half of the ships fighting for Braavos were sellswords, and they quickly saw the way the wind was turning, and promptly fled, leaving their comrades to die. Out of nearly eight hundred ships, only seven and ten returned to bravos, a good three hundred or so betraying them rather than stand and fight.

The biggest obstacle left was the Titan. No enemy fleet had **ever** gotten past the titan. No one, not Volantis, not Pentos, not even the Fucking Valyrian Freehold had ever conquered Braavos, and not a gods damned shit of this mattered, because **this** time, it was Robert Fucking Baratheon himself who was coming to fuck Braavos right up the arse, and he was going in dry as a fucking desert too.

Halting the fleet a good few hours sailing away, Robert watched with a sombre eye as a few brave lads with mush for brains sailed thirty ships in a tight line towards what would be the greatest moment of their life.

Now Tyrion Lannister's gambit against Stannis had worked like a fucking marvel on the Blackwater (oh how Robert had fucking laughed when that happened) but one ship was not big enough for what Robert wanted. No, Robert Fucking Baratheon, First of his Name and Whorer of Whores wanted to make the biggest fucking bang since the Doom of Fucking Valyria, and what Robert wants, Robert Will. Fucking. Get. Fuck the costs, and fuck the logistics. Robert wanted a big fucking bang, and he'd fucking get it. Besides it gave him an excuse to get rid of Aerys' caches of wildfire underneath King's Landing, and having checked, double checked and triple checked with Varys that, 'yes, every cache, barrel or fucking soup pot of wildfire was gone' also let Robert sleep better at night.

Finding a good two hundred men willing to blow themselves up had been rather easier than he thought it'd be. A week in of the finest brothels in King's landing, and as much food and wine they could drink during that week, as well as an offer of five dragons payment to their families had gotten Robert the men he needed to sail the biggest man-made floating bang in the history of humanity. And even in the middle of the day, hours and miles away, the explosion light up the sky like the fucking sun.

By the time the armada actually reached Braavos the fires had gone out and the fight was almost over before it could begin. The closest islands had all been washed clean of anything resembling civilization. Further in, the Palace of the Sealord had a huge hole from where the arm and shield of the Titan had blasted in. The mighty arsenal was a collection of matchwood form where the left leg had torn through it, and Robert also had a sudden feeling that the Faceless men, if any of them still lived would be searching for new lodgings as the head of the Titan seemed to have had a direct hit.

Three days later it was all over. With the city (what remained of it) firmly under Westerosi control, it had been simple enough to fine every keyholder of the Iron Bank. Kill them and seize their assets. Likewise, plundering the Iron Bank had been a matter of simplicity once they held the keys, and sad eyes Braavosi had to watch in glum despair as the 'barbarians' from Westeros merrily laughed, japed, drank, whored and carried away all their gold and jewels. Robert himself had a brief stop at the Palace of the Sealord to select a few (ok a lot) tasteful pieces of art, weapon or furniture. He fucked the Sealords wife and three mistresses, took a royal shit of epic proportions that he had saved for that very purpose in his bed, ate his fish and took his dogs, said dogs gleefully following what they probably sensed was a kindred spirit (something like to eat, fuck and hunt), oh yes, Robert had definitely written himself into the history books.

Coming home Robert felt like a fucking God. People were screaming and shouting his name, he was richer than his wildest fucking dreams, even after every man in the armada had received a such of cold each, he still had enough gold that not only was the treasury full, but he (to his chagrin) had to bring out all of the Targaryen shit (dragon skulls included) to Daenerys' delight, simply to convert more space to keep all his gold. The Night's Watch loved him too, as with the few thousand prisoners he brought back from Braavos it was better manned than ever before. And the vast majority of the new brothers, after seeing the giant cleaver Ned called a sword, and remembering what Robert did when he was a bit 'miffed' at the Iron Bank, and Sealord, gladly decided that becoming a brother of the Night's Watch was all they'd ever dreamed about.

Braavos itself would eventually recover somewhat, tough never to its former power, but that's another story.

As for the Wildlings and the White Walkers, well, Robert certainly hadn't forgotten either of them. He was also smart enough to realize that when it came to the Wildlings he was ill prepared to negotiate, especially since he had a goodson who understood them better than he ever would, said goodson also proved a smart man as he wat itching for an excuse to take a brief leave of absence. Having discovered the 'joy' of having not one, but two wives, both heavy with child, high tempers, inordinate cravings, and in the case of Daenerys access to a rather large dragon.

Just how his goodson managed it Robert would never know (he never managed to get the story out of him), but Jon/Aemon managed to come to an agreement with the wildlings. A fairly large amount of them (Mance Raider included) wanted to get as far away from the White Walkers as possible, and also to get as far away from 'kneelers' as possible, so, armed with whatever they could carry, and enough Wierwood saplings to build a small forest for some reason, Jon/Aemon the fucker that he was managed to convince the majority of the wildlings to sail across the sea and settle in Essos.

Apparently large open lands, warm temperature for once, and no Kings demanding they kneel was a huge selling point and with the fucker settling them down close to where the dothraki used to roam for so long he ensured the there would be a long time (if any) dothraki ever bothered the world again. A few giants accompanied them, but the majority decided to settle in the North, to the great joy of the northern Lords who decided that, if giants helping out a bit here and a bit there in return for being allowed to roam free they weren't so bad after all. A particular fixture for generations to come was the yearly meadfest at Last Hearth, where Umbers and giants drank from dusk till dawn and made 'merry' (shudder), as was evident with the abnormal amount of children born that would one day easily rival if not surpass Gregor Clegane in stature.

As for the white walkers they woke too late. Apparently the vast majority of them slept for centuries at the time, with one or two staying awake to try and gather more undead thralls, but with the Night's Watch suddenly armed with valyrian steel, and filled to the brim with angry sellswords looking for any excuse to murder _something_ the Long Night lasted about as long as a boys first time sticking his cock in another woman. When word reached the south, Robert, by this time closer to fifty than he cared to admit gathered a few thousand heavy horsemen and rode north, Daenerys and Jon/Aemon eventually following on their dragons that by this point were large enough to swallow a fucking carriage whole in one bite.

The Long Night campaign could be explained in very few words. Robert Fucking Baratheon, He came, He Saw, He kicked its ass, and lead the army in singing bawdy songs with good food roasting merrily over the fire in the Lands of Always Winter, while his goodson and gooddaughter attempted to turn the white walkers frozen castle into a northern Harrenhal. They did a good job of it in the beginning, but eventually whatever magic the walkers had put into broke and the whole thing collapsed. So they never got northern Harrenhal, but on the other side, the North suddenly got a huge new freshwater lake, especially when the huge glacier in the Lands of Always winter started melting not that it wasn't always winter any more, but that's another story.

Eventually, Robert, nearing sixty years old during court one day simply stood up and said "Fuck it, you've got the job," and put the crown on his goodson's head. Gave Mya and Dany a kiss on the cheek each, ruffled a few heads on his older grandchildren, while spinning and/or throwing a few of the younger ones into the air before leaving Westeros behind, with only a sack of gold in his belt, his warhammer across one shoulder, and his other warhammer in his trousers.

He was Robert Fucking Baratheon. He saved the fucking world, He got the last laugh over Rhaegar as Jon/Aemon called him father more often than not. He had a grand total of four and thirty grandchildren (even if three of them were technically Daenerys' children) and he had made sure that his name would be whispered in the same breath as that of the Last Hero, Lann the Clever, Aegon the Conqueror or Bran the Builder. So with one last look at the Red Keep, Robert Baratheon left Westeros behind and walked into legend. . .

 **AN: Holy shit that turned out longer than I thought it would. I wrote this, partially to try and get into the 'groove' of things again, last night's episode helped get my GoT Hype up a bit too. So I had these various ideas lying around. At one point this was about Jon 'waking' up sometime before the events of the first book, and then, somehow scheming his way to the point where he wins the Throne with a Rebellion. At another point I had him take a more 'political' approach by somehow managing to convince Tywin of the truth, and basically getting Tywin to do his dirty work for him, in return for marrying Myrcella and making her the Queen.**

 **Eventually it ended up with; What would happen when Bobby B got to the afterlife? Would he be well received by his family and whatnot, and IF he was given a second chance what would he do? So that is what this all devolved into, I also had a rather huge craving to just write this as 'cracky' as possible, and lets face it, Bobby B is MADE for crack fics.**

 **On my other fics; Bloody Wolf is stuck in a deep hole of writers block. I know what I want, I just can't seem to get the words out.**

 **From the Ashes is stuck but not stuck, more like I am trying to decide just how graphic and/or 'squicky' I can make it to truly tro and push the buttons of what you guys are comfortable with, without getting myself banned in the process xD**

 **Dragon in Wolf Clothing is on a temporary Hiatus, but if anyone wants to adopt it feel free to give me a PM and I'll send you all copies of the chapters. Same with any of my omake's. If you see an omake that you wanna take and turn into a full length fic feel free to do so.**

 **Cheers:**

 **Daemon Belaerys.**


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